Iach.

I will deny nothing.

Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb

meal!

I will go there, and do't; i'the court; before
Her father:-I'll do something-

Phi.

[Exit. Quite beside The government of patience!--You have won : Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath He hath against himself.

Iach.

With all my heart.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.-The same. Another room in the same. Enter Posthumus.

Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women Must be half workers? We are bastards all; And that most venerable man, which I Did call my father, was I know not where When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools Made me a counterfeit: Yet my mother seem'd The Dian of that time: so doth my wife The nonpareil of this.-O vengeance, vengeance! Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd, And pray'd me, oft, forbearance: did it with A pudency1 so rosy, the sweet view on't

Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought

her

As chaste as unsunn'd snow:-O, all the devils!-
This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,—was't not?—
Or less, at first: Perchance he spoke not; but,
Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
Cry'd, oh! and mounted: found no opposition
But what he look'd for should oppose, and she
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
That tends to vice in man, but I affirm

It is the woman's part: Be it lying, note it,
The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;

(1) Modesty.

Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
Nice longings, slanders, mutability,

All faults that may be nam'd, nay that hell knows,
Why, hers, in part, or all; but, rather, all:
For ev'n to vice

They are not constant, but are changing still
One vice, but of a minute old, for one

Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
Detest them, curse them :-Yet 'tis greater skill
In a true hate, to pray they have their will:
The very devils cannot plague them better. [Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I-Britain. A room of state in Cymbeline's palace. Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords, at one door; and at another, Caius Lucius, and Attendants.

Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us?

Luc. When Julius Cæsar (whose remembrance

yet

Live's in men's eyes; and will to ears, and tongues,
Be theme, and hearing ever,) was in this Britain,
And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,
(Famous in Cæsar's praises, no whit less
T'han in his feats deserving it,) for him,
And his succession, granted Rome a tribute,
Yearly three thousand pounds; which by thee
lately

Is left untender'd.

Queen.

Shall be so ever.

Clo.

And, to kill the marvel,

There be many Cæsars,

Ere such another Julius. Britain is

A world by itself; and we will nothing pay,

VOL. VII.

L

For wearing our own noses.
Queen.

That opportunity,

Which then they had to take from us, to resume
We have again.-Remember, sir, my liege,
The kings your ancestors; together with
The natural bravery of your isle; which stands
As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters;
With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats,
But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of con-

quest

Cæsar made here; but made not here his brag, Of, came, and saw, and overcame: with shame (The first that ever touch'd him,) he was carried From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping (Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas, Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof, The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point (O, giglet fortune!) to master Caesar's sword, Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright, And Britons strut with courage.

Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no more such Cæsars: other of them may have crooked noses; but, to owe such straight arms, none.

Cym. Son, let your mother end.

Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan : do not say, I am one; but I have a hand.--Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If Cæsar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray

you now.

Cym. You must know,

Till the injurious Romans did extort

This tribute from us, we were free: Cæsar's am bition

(1) Strumpet,

(Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch
The sides o'the world,) against all colour, here
Did put the yoke upon us; which to shake off,
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Ourselves to be. We do say then to Cæsar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which

Ordain'd our laws; (whose use the sword of Cæsar
Hath too much mangled; whose repair, and fran-

chise,

Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, Though Rome be therefore angry ;) Mulmutius, Who was the first of Britain, which did put His brows within a golden crown, and call'd Himself a king.

Luc.

I am sorry, Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar
(Cæsar, that hath more kings his servants, than
Thyself domestic officers,) thine enemy:

Receive it from me, then :-War, and confusion,
In Cæsar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
For fury not to be resisted :-Thus defied,
I thank thee for myself.

Cym..
Thou art welcome, Caius.
Thy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent
Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
Which he, to seek of me again, perforce,
Behoves me keep at utterance; I am perfect,2
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
Their liberties, are now in arms: a precedent
Which not to read, would show the Britons

cold:

So Cæsar shall not find them.

Luc.

Let proof speak. Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day, or two, longer: If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you beat us out of it, it is

(1) At the extremity of defiance.
(2) Well informed.

yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and there's an end.

Luc. So, sir.

Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he

mine:

All the remain is, welcome.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Another room in the same. Enter

Pisanio.

Pis. How! of adultery? Wherefore write you not
What monster's her accuser?-Leonatus!
O, master! what a strange infection

Is fallen into thy ear? What false Italian
(As poisonous-tongu'd, as handed,) hath prevail'à
On thy too ready hearing?-Disloyal? No:
She's punish'd for her truth; and undergoes,
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
As would take in some virtue.-O, my master!
Thy mind to her is now as low, as were
Thy fortunes.-How! that I should murder her?
Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I
Have made to thy command?-I, her?-her blood?
If it be so to do good service, never

Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
That I should seem to lack humanity,

So much as this fact comes to? Do't: the letter

[Reading.
That I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity:-O damn'd paper!
Black as the ink that's on thee! senseless bauble,
Art thou a feodary2 for this act, and look'st
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
Enter Imogen.

I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
Imo. How now, Pisanio?

Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.

(1) To take in a town, is to conquer it.
(2) Confederate.